A Run for your Money
by Mori art ti
Summary: Daryl Dixon may have met a girl who gives him a run for his money, but surely a southern Belle is not match for him...


**Preface**

When the outbreak happened in the small town of Slayden, Tennessee where there are only about 200 people, you can imagine it went bad pretty fast. In a small town like that people aren't prepared for things out of the ordinary to happen. The most unordinary thing that had happened in my 21 years living there was one year when I was 'bout 14, some big shot celebrity's bus broke down while on their way to Nashville for a performance. The poor guy had stopped on the outskirts o' town, too, right where me and my father lived. I was gonna try an' help him, but dad forbade it, so the poor guy had to walk a ways until he found help.

Dad never did like people comin' around our house. I was homeschooled since I was young, and by my momma up until she died in a car crash when I was 7. I was in the car with her, too. Dad blamed the wreck on me, said I distracted her and made her run into that other car. But I wasn't drunk drivin' the other car, so I never got how I could be at fault. It's not like I walked away unharmed, either. Piece of glass went right into my left eye and down my face. I'm blind in that eye, 'though you couldn't tell just from lookin' at me. I got a big scar down my cheek from that, too. But I have a lot more scars since then, cause, like I said, my dad blamed me. Wanted me to suffer, and that he did.

But anyway, the outbreak. I guess I remember that day in Slayden, Tennessee, 'though I try to block it out. I don't talk about it, neither, cause there's no one to talk about it to. I'm alone now. Everyone else is gone, an' I been travelin' alone since. I remember a little though. I was sitting outside with my horse, Dusty, when an' cleanin' off my crossbow from mud that had gotten on it. I think there was mud in my red hair, too, but it's all sort of a blur...come to think of it, I think I had mud all over my body, but that wasn't my worry. I was just worried 'bout my bow, so there I was, cleaning it. But it was then I heard a sort of growling, a deep moan and snarl, like some sort of wild animal when it's hungry. I turned around, expecting to see a coyote. Instead, there was my dad. Only, he wasn't my dad anymore. I know now to call them a Walker, but at the time, I didn't know what it was. He was sickly pale, almost green and was covered in blood. There were pieces of flesh falling off his body, and his eyes had a blank...dead expression. And he was coming at me, arms outstretched, and my instincts told me he wanted a bite to eat, and I was that bite.

You can guess it wasn't hard for me to get rid of him. After all the pain he'd caused me in my life, getting back at him kind of felt good. It didn't take me too long to realize that it was the head that made them really die. I didn't feel bad about doing it to my father, not at all. But when I went into the town of Slayden, and had to get rid of the others, that's when I felt the pain. All the ladies who'd always called me "Little Belle" since I was young, and the ones who'd adored my bright red hair, told me my skin reminded them of a porcelain doll, that my emerald eyes would look beautiful on a necklace or earrings. The ladies who'd done their best to feed me, and make sure I had clothes and anything else I needed. And the men that would stop by from time to time and do work that needed done around the house, to make sure I was somewhat comfortable. It hurt to get rid of them, but it was for the best. They wouldn't want to live that way. If living was what you could call it.

I took Dusty and ran. Grabbed a few things in a bag, my cross bow and arrows and left. I think now I'm in Georgia, near Atlanta. My mom brought me here when she was still alive, and I remember it. It was the only happy time in my life. I'm living in the woods. Sometimes there's walkers, but I take care of 'em with my arrows. I think I've been out for around four months. I've still got Dusty by some miracle, but I've risked myself a few times to save that horse. He's my only friend in the world, that black horse. Besides him, I'm alone. He's all I got.

**Chapter One**

****I woke up to the sun rising. Dusty was on the ground next to me, huffing lightly in a heavy sleep. My stomach growled, a sound all too familiar at this point. I hadn't eaten in a few days, and I was starting to feel it. All I wanted to do was sleep, and rest. I had little energy. I needed food, fast, or I wouldn't be able to survive. Slowly I climbed up to a tree. Squirrels were somethin' I'd grown to eat. Even since I was young. They were easy to kill, easy to clean, an' easy to cook.

I slowly pulled my long braided hair back behind myself and perched on one of the highest branches. I wasn't there for long until I shot down a squirrel who had come to observe the campfire site I'd made last night. I jumped down from my tree and made my way over to the small animal to claim my meal, when a deep southern drawl stopped me in my path as I kneeled down and reached for the animal.

"Now missy, what do ya think ya are doin' with my kill?"

I turned to observe the owner of the voice. A dark haired, scruffy lookin', leather jacket, jean wearin' southern man. Right in front of me. An actual, living human in front of me for the first time in months. Months, an' the only thing I could think to say was...

"It's my kill, so whatever I damn well please."

Lady-like...


End file.
